


Deja Vu

by likingthistoomuch



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Angst, F/M, but happy ending, wwii setting - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2018-06-06 19:23:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6766726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likingthistoomuch/pseuds/likingthistoomuch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was her eyes that brought him back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deja Vu

He was back, Sherlock Holmes was indeed back. His mother was embracing him and sobbing loudly, his father was patting his back. Even his older brother Mycroft was all smiles. Sherlock Holmes was home and his family was all happy and greeting him with smiles and tears. There was laughter and backslapping and hugs, all the ingredients of a happy reunion.

Except for the woman who stood at the back of the sitting room. She viewed him with wary eyes, eyes that looked at the man who had returned home after three years of complete silence. Eyes that didn't flinch when they met a strong blue-green gaze, but merely wondered about the immediate future and what it meant for her…for them.

* * *

Molly had been a young girl, brought up in a loving yet unconventional and, in a way, unstable environment. Both her parents were restless souls, who travelled the world learning cultures and spreading wisdom while she lived with her grandparents. But the previous year had been devastating, with both her grandparents following each other to the grave. Her parents had stayed put in England for a few months but the stability was driving them mad. So they had made arrangements for Molly to live with her grandparent's friends, the Holmes family, while they travelled across central Africa.

The Holmes family wasn't the most conventional one but they were a loving bunch, once one ignored the social misbehaviour. The Holmes parents were caring, nurturing and overall a lovely couple. The older son Mycroft was polite though aloof, while the younger one, Sherlock was distant as well as impolite. There was limited interaction with them as the older was working away in London while the younger one preferred to ensconce himself tinkering away in his rooms or out of the house working with local constabulary. And as any interaction with him eventually led to angry tears flowing down her cheeks, she tried to avoid him altogether.

In all, Molly was comfortable but still waiting for her parent's return. She didn't have much female company; the only other around woman her age being Irene Adler, whom she assumed was Sherlock's betrothed. Irene had a superior air about her that Molly disliked, and so instead preferred to spend her time reading or exploring the Holmes estate.

It was one such exploration that changed her life forever.

She had been expecting her parent's arrival anytime soon, but instead had received news of further delay, third time in a row. Feeling desolate and lonely, she had trudged along the stream that flowed through the estate, not really looking where she was heading. Finding a secluded and tree covered area she had sat down and wept silently. But her hope for being undisturbed was shattered when a twig snapped and she turned to find Sherlock staring at her. Not wanting to be near his acerbic tongue, she had tried to leave but he had grabbed her arm and inquired after the reason for her tears. She had struggled to be let free, embarrassed to be seen crying, but he had held on. She had finally relented, showing him the telegram. His sympathetic manner broke her final resolve and she had started weeping, at which point he had pulled her in an embrace.

That simple gesture of consolation had slowly turned into something more intimate; something she knew was dangerous but had been helpless in distancing herself from. He had gently brushed her hair, then caressed her cheek and kissed her…which led to further things. As Molly dealt with new emotions and sensations, she had failed to see the glassy look in Sherlock's eyes, his pupils like pin pricks. She had been too upset and overwhelmed to realise that Sherlock was not his normal self.

The next few days were spent avoiding him, Molly trying her best to forget her mortifying behaviour. But her worst fears were confirmed when she started feeling giddy and nauseated, Mrs Holmes finally correctly inferring her delicate condition.

All hell had broken lose then. Molly was confronted by the angry Holmes parents, Mrs Holmes being particularly caustic. She was accused of seducing the younger Holmes son, of trying to up her position in society. Mrs Holmes went on a rant till she was finally calmed down by her son.

"I made a mistake …and will make amends. I will marry Molly and the child _will_ have my name."

It was the last Sherlock spoke in her presence, the decision agreed upon as the only solution to the problem, and so barely nineteen and pregnant, Molly Hooper had become Molly Holmes in a small private ceremony. Sherlock had been distant through all of this, barely exchanging any words with his bride-to-be. But Molly's hope (and fear) that this distance would be maintained post marriage was squashed when the newlyweds retired to their quarters, a cottage on the manor grounds away from the main building. The moment the door had closed Sherlock had pulled her into his arms and had kissed the breath out of her, before proceeding to debauch her thoroughly. Molly had finally fallen asleep late in the night, sated yet at unease, Sherlock's words to his mother still ringing in her ears.

The next few months went smoothly, Mrs Holmes' anger at Molly abating with her increasing belly. Molly knew her child would be loved, though about her own position in the household she wasn't so sure. Sherlock ensured Molly was as comfortable as possible, showing physical affection in private but otherwise keeping his distance, exchanging words only when necessary. He was a passionate, eager yet gentle lover, but a reluctant companion. She started feeling like she was holding him back and he was trying his best to avoid regretting his actions.

Her insecurity further increased when Irene visited them, making a show of being happy and congratulating Sherlock on his luck. But Molly was able to see the sad look in her eyes before she covered it with a smile; the woman was heartbroken. It didn't help when she overheard Mrs Holmes conversing with her cousin.

"Irene is such a fantastic girl, so supportive of Sherlock. She's always been able to keep up with his brilliant mind, bringing out the best in him. They would've made such a handsome couple, but well… I am going to be a Grandmother soon! I count my blessings when I can."

The feeling of dread in Molly's stomach had only increased when she saw her husband's lively and interested interactions. Sherlock and Irene always met in Molly's presence, but they seemed to exist in their own bubble no matter how hard she tried to participate in their discussion. Which had also led to the first of her many heated arguments with Sherlock, after Irene left for London. Angry words were exchanged, accusations made in the heat of the moment. The tension between them escalated, their interactions now oscillating between heated arguments and coldly ignoring each other.

"I would've been solving mysteries, catching criminals in London, would've been working with _Scotland Yard_ instead of being cooped here in the country, saddled with a pregnant wife!" He had yelled at her during one particularly heated argument and then left the room slamming the door on his way out, leaving her ashen faced. She had had her doubts, but for him to confirm them as such…she'd never felt lonelier or more helpless. Molly started feeling more and more like the sole participant in their marriage. Sherlock had apologised profusely the next morning, but the damage had been done. Their conversations were now stilted, polite and forced. He started spending more and more time away from the house or shut behind his lab doors.

"Give him some time; this is not what _any_ of us expected, him tinkering with domesticity. He is trying his best… he is trying to rein in that brilliant mind. He has been fair to you, it's only fair that you return the favour," were Mycroft's words to her, which only added to her feeling of isolation.

Sherlock started working away from home more, travelling to the continent, being days away at a stretch. There were tidings of another war on the horizon (the previous great war having taught no lesson obviously) and it further added to her anxiety. She was always on tenterhooks when he was away, till one day when she was almost nine months pregnant, they received a telegram.

There had been an accident or a bomb had exploded…the details weren't clear but the result was that the convoy Sherlock had been travelling with had been attacked and there had been several casualties. Their group hadn't been military, and since an attack on civilians was yet unheard of, there was hope. But days passed and even though Mycroft himself travelled to search for his brother, no good news arrived. They had to accept the fact that Sherlock wasn't coming back.

Molly was devastated, recalling the angry parting words with her husband. It had been a particularly loud argument, with Sherlock vehemently insisting on travelling for an exciting mystery, ignoring the late period of her pregnancy as well as in the volatile political atmosphere in Europe. The last time she had seen her husband, he had had a stony expression on his face while insulting her presence in the house and then storming off.

As she grieved in isolation, trying to identify her mistakes and instances where she could've behaved differently, she further withdrew from those around her. Even as the shock subsided, the tears refused to come. She was branded cold and devious by his grieving mother, but by that time Molly had completely gone into a shell, barely speaking, eating or sleeping.

It was in such a solemn air that her son was born, having his father's hair and eyes. It was the baby's birth that thawed Mrs Holmes' heart. She was at last able to look beyond her own grief at the young widow who, when her baby was placed in her arms, cried for the first time since the news of her husband's death. She'd hugged the new mother then, asking for her forgiveness and promising to be the support Molly's own mother failed to be. Molly had cried even more, grateful yet cursing the situation that brought about the reconciliation.

Clutching her son to her bosom, Molly promised to shower him with all the love, attention and devotion that she had missed in her own life. Christopher Holmes, named after Molly's grandfather, was going to be a happy and content child, she decided.

And it was a promise she kept successfully. He was a gentle baby, smiling easily and rarely in tears. Surrounded by a doting family, especially his grandparents and a dedicated mother, he was growing up to be a lovely, sweet, kind boy.

It was on his third birthday, surrounded by friends, cousins and family, that he laid eyes on his father for the first time. Hidden behind Molly's skirts, Christopher saw the tall man look around the room till his eyes landed on his mother, who had tensed up, and then on him. He had sensed that she was nervous, and so had done the only thing he could; he had tugged at her skirts and asked to be picked up, planting a wet kiss on her cheek.

She had smiled at him the way she did when trying to hide her true feelings and appear happy for him. Had smiled and introduced him to his father. But the boy had got shy and had hidden his face in the crook of his mother's neck, where it stayed no matter how much they tried to coax him.

"Molly," Sherlock had finally addressed her, albeit tentatively. "You look…well."

"I am," had been her cautious response, a cautious smile on her face.

It was an awkward reunion between the separated couple. There were no happy tears or hugs, with Molly being a bit wary and Sherlock seemingly uncertain at the turn of events. There wasn't much chance to speak with each other then, what with the rest of the family present and celebrating their son's return.

The celebrations had no intention of winding down any time soon, and with Christopher getting drowsier, Molly had excused herself from the gathering. Mrs Holmes accompanied her to the cottage, gently touching her elbow as she was about to enter her home. "I will stay with Christopher if you want to go back to the party."

As Molly hesitated to accept the offer, Mrs Holmes continued, "It's fine if you want to stay here instead, I'll handle it. If _I_ feel so overwhelmed, I can only imagine what you must be going through… You take your time, love. I will keep Sherlock at the main house tonight. But about tomorrow, I cannot say."

Their next interaction was during lunch the next day, Sherlock spending the whole morning with Mycroft behind closed doors. Molly was a little relieved; she was yet to come to terms with this new change in her life and hadn't found a free moment to sit and process it all.

Sherlock had remained relatively quiet during the celebratory meal, Molly finding his eyes on her the few times she dared to glance his way. The decision was taken away from her hands when just as coffee was served, Sherlock requested her to accompany him for a walk around the grounds.

She walked next to her husband, her hands twisting and fidgeting, neither of them making an effort to start a conversation. Ironically it was as they approached the tree lined spot of their eventful rendezvous that Sherlock spoke.

"You were _there_ …sitting alone and crying…changed our lives didn't it, that telegram?" he'd asked softly.

Molly had flushed red, their antics of that afternoon years ago still managing to embarrass her. She just nodded and had turned back, when Sherlock held her arm and stopped her.

"I don't remember it all, Molly. That concussion… had no memory for quite some time. It only started coming back last year, so you might have to help me…remember the minutiae."

She mutely nodded, feeling the weight of his arm as well as the warmth that flowed through his fingers where he held her. She had always been very responsive to him and he had always known it, had always used it to his advantage. Gently pulling her arm back, she'd used Christopher as an excuse to turn back.

"Mummy said she would take care of him. He is such a lovely child, everybody loves his so much. He has your caution, Christopher. The whole morning he has been silently observing me. He may look like me, but he has so much of you in him. You must be very proud of him Molly."

"I am," she said with the first genuinely pleased smile of the day. Her son was her life, it was as simple as that.

"Finally," Sherlock had interjected. At her questioning look he'd replied, "A genuine smile from you. Your eyes lit up, I'd been looking forward to see that."

She had blushed furiously and had felt infuriated. He still had that power over her, one she'd been hoping she had overcome. Sherlock had always used a gentle teasing tone to get her to forgive his faux pas, and she had easily bent to his will. His twinkling eyes showed his amusement at her discomfort and that goaded her to walk quicker, hoping to take refuge in her cottage.

But he'd easily followed her, his long legs taking the once familiar path to what had been _his_ home too.

"Uh, I'll see you around dinner then-"

"Won't you invite me for a coffee," he interrupted her departure. "I did miss mine after lunch…"

She stood on her doorstep, blinking at him. He used to love coffee and made her make a cup for him after each meal, no matter if Cook had already made it for the whole family. He'd always said that Molly knew just the right proportion that he favoured, and made it better than anyone else. They had their meals with the family but coffee was a routine that was personal and private, just for the two of them.

Molly realised she had been standing by the door for long without responding, and had nodded her invitation. He stood just inside the door, gazing at the rooms that had once housed him and his bride. While he went towards the fireplace to look at photo frames, she went to her kitchen to prepare a beverage she had almost given up after his… _death_.

She didn't drink much coffee, so the tin was kept on the top shelf. She tried to reach for it by standing on her tip toes, but ended up pushing the coffee tin further out of her reach. Taking a deep breath and gathering her wits, she again tried to stretch herself further. In her efforts, she didn't notice that Sherlock had entered the kitchen and was now standing right behind her. Just as her finger brushed the tin further away, she was startled as she felt his hand on her waist for support while he easily picked the offending tin from the high shelf and placed it in front of her.

He was right behind her. With her heels on the floor, she was now closer to him than before. The atmosphere in that small space suddenly felt very intimate, with Sherlock's breath slightly fanning the hair at her nape. His hand stayed on her waist, one single digit in touch with her skin where her blouse had ridden high as she stretched. She felt him inhale deeper, felt a shiver pass through her as he gently pressed that digit touching her skin. She felt trapped between the heat of his body, the kitchen counter and the light touch on her waist.

Sherlock moved his other hand from the coffee tin and placed it on hers, apparently delighting in the sharp breath she took.

"Molly," he murmured his voice deeper than she'd ever heard. He intertwined his fingers with hers then placed their hands on her stomach and pulled gently till she was against his chest, his other hand further exploring the soft skin at her waist. His nose was in her hair then gently explored the shell of her ear before his lips finally found resting place just below her ear lobe. She realised belatedly that she had tilted her head to give him more access, but was helpless against the assault on her senses.

She was now leaning on him, not sure her legs would be able to support her were he to let her go now. Trapped between his arms Sherlock murmured by her ear, "I finally found you, didn't I!"

He turned her to face him, his arms still around her. She was afraid to look into his eyes and see a passion that she knew from experience would disappear along with the night's cover. The choice was taken out of her hands as he placed a long finger under her chin and lifted her face. His pupils were almost entirely dark, but it wasn't a passion looking for mere physical release. There was something else in his gaze…something new...something that had been missing during their short time together.

"I am sorry…so sorry. I forgot that it was all new for you too-"

They were disturbed by a knock on the door. Molly shook her head and moved away, scrambling to get the door, her cheeks blazing. It was the stable boy, delivering a package long with a letter.

Dismissing the boy, Molly took the package and went to her bedroom to keep it under her bed, desperately trying to come up with a cover story for it. She didn't want Sherlock to be too curious about it, but she stopped short as she turned around. Sherlock had followed her into their erstwhile bedroom and now had a curious expression on his face.

"What was that all about," he asked.

"Nothing. Just some personal stuff." She answered quickly, her response sounding pretentious even to her own ears.

"Aren't you going to read the letter?" His tone was amiable, but there was nothing genial about his eyes.

Knowing she was now caught in an awkward position, Molly proceeded to open the letter and read its contents. She failed to see Sherlock retrieve the envelope and look at its sender; as expected, he didn't seem too pleased to note the name.

"Dr T Moody? Is he a suitor?" he asked curiosity clear on his face. "It wouldn't be unexpected, you know," he responded when she looked offended, "you are a young, attractive, _seemingly_ single woman."

Molly took a deep breath and decided to come clean; her husband was a detective after all.

"It's a congratulatory note. And the package…those were my books. I was …getting tutored by Dr Thomas Moody."

Sherlock seemed to search his memory and seemed displeased with what he found.

"Tom Moody," he sneered. "When did that tick become _DrThomas_ _Moody_? Always so polite…with that listless smile of his! He always seemed so…so _pleased_ to be around you, even before we got married. Jumped at the chance, did he? And what was he tutoring you on exactly?"

Molly knew Sherlock had always disliked the young man, but the vitriol in his tone still surprised her, making her rise to the bait as she always had. "What do you mean, _jumped at the chance_ -"

But she stopped short, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. She rubbed her forehead tiredly. More than three years had passed but it felt like they were picking up exactly where they had left. When she spoke, she sounded tired.

"Sherlock, I like science…I always did. That's why I used to try to be around you…in the hope that you would share your experiments…your knowledge with me. But you dismissed me _each and every_ time. Even when we were married only Irene Adler could engage you in a meaningful conversation. Tom was…helpful. He is studying to be a doctor and he teaches me in his free time."

Her words seemed to have caught the detective by surprise. Till his eyes hardened again.

"You could've joined a college Molly, instead of taking private tutorials from _Tom_ who was so obviously interested in you-"

"I have a child Sherlock," she cut in a terse voice, knowing his capacity for hurtful remarks. "I would've loved to study and learn and see the world but I have a small boy who _till last evening_ was fatherless. No way was I going to leave _any child_ of mine to follow my dreams. I have been a product of such parents and look where it got me! Pregnant at an age when girls were enjoying life, married to a man who treated me kindly but never let me forget that-that _we_ were a result of a drug addled moment of weakness. And that I held him back from doing what _he_ wanted."

Sherlock blinked, his mouth working but no words came out. It was finally in the open, and in a way Molly was grateful; she hated tiptoeing around the truth. It would've been like a sword hanging over her head, just waiting to fall and injure her further.

"Yes, your mother tried to convince me to attend college, to study further. She has been a pillar of best support these past years. She tried her best to convince me to move to London…Mycroft even offered to let us live with him as accommodation was not easy after the war. But I refused to let others pay for _my_ mistakes. So yes, I made the best of what I had." Her tone slightly hardened then. "And yes, Tom was _nice_. He was polite, considerate. He didn't hide his interest and I admit it felt… _good_. I could smile at him, talk to him, just be around him and not constantly worry that I was holding him back or wonder where the next insult would come from."

She had moved right in front of him now, looking straight into his eyes, showing no nerves for a change. "I admit I didn't feel overwhelmed with him as I did with you Sherlock, but then Tom didn't make me feel like I was an atonement either."

Sherlock looked horrified and when he responded, his voice was soft. "An atonement? You were never an atonement Molly, you were a… _distraction_." He started to pace the small room, running his fingers through his hair; it was a nervous tell that hadn't gone away. "Irene used to flirt and simper and yet I could dismiss her presence. But not you, _never_ you. Your dimpled shy smile, those big brown eyes made me feel disoriented. Your soft voice flowed like velvet over me, that silken brown hair I just itched to touch and caress…it was all I could do to keep my hands off you. I thought…I thought being rude to you would keep you away. I took drugs in the hope that…somehow, I would see sense. But all intentions went for a toss when I saw you crying by that stream, looking so lonely…lost, helpless. Your eyes looked like molten amber in the sunlight…that was a sight I always remembered, even while I remembered nothing else. Those eyes…oh how those eyes have haunted me Molly. They were my only tether to my past and they drove me mad until I started to finally remember."

Molly stood frozen in her place, disbelief clear on her face. "Don't…don't mock me, Sherlock," she said softly, shaking her head.

"Mock you," he laughed bitterly before moving closer, placing his hands on either side of her face. She tried to turn and slap his hands away, but he pulled her closer with one arm around her waist and the other tangled in her hair. "I searched for you everywhere! The sight of a brown eyed woman or a young child would give rise to these…feelings…this yearning for _something_ I couldn't place my finger on. It was like searching for a path in absolute darkness, until it slowly started coming back…small snippets, blurred images. But there was always one constant, a pair of warm brown eyes…eyes that accused, blamed but always anchored…always beckoned me home. You brought me back, Molly… _you_ did that."

He whispered those last words by her mouth, looking at her with a sincerity that she had never seen before. It was that sincere but slightly nervous look that made her believe that he wasn't lying and in fact was telling the truth. He then bent his head as his nose nudged hers, his lips ghosting over her lips, their breaths mixing. He laid a gentle kiss by the edge of her lips before giving her a chaste kiss. He then simply covered her lips with his for a moment before deepening the kiss and devouring her mouth. There was an urgency, a passion in his actions that was overwhelming… but he was also shivering. After a few moments, she gently pushed him away, but held onto his arms to hold him close. He had shut his eyes and was breathing heavily as she touched his face gently, urging him to look to at her.

She was right, he almost looked scared as he kissed her palm and covered her hand with his, pressing her hand to his cheek.

"I almost lost you forever. I know I have been an arrogant bastard, have treated you with disdain…but I just didn't know otherwise! It's not an excuse, _nothing_ can excuse my behaviour…but I've always loved you Molly, _never_ doubt that. And it still scares me how close I came to losing it all."

She believed him and saw the sincerity in his eyes. She tried to soothe but he continued to speak.

"I should've told you earlier, daily, every moment I had with you. I should've told you how much I loved you; how you had me right from the moment I first laid eyes on you. How you had invaded my mind…my senses till I just didn't know what to do! And then I had you, all to myself…and I blew it all away."

She caressed his face, her eyes soft, her voice quivering.

"No you didn't, you didn't blow it away. I've had three long years to think about it Sherlock. Retrospection is a beautiful but painful thing. I've always admired you, but I realised that I never knew you well. Neither of us got to know each other, we were just pushed into the deep end. We made mistakes… but we are lucky to be given another chance. I think we should try and make the most of it; we owe ourselves that much. And most important, we owe that to our son."

She had held him close, their foreheads touching and their tears mixing together. It was a poignant moment, an instant where they rued lost opportunities as well as thanked for a new chance. Sherlock then held her tight in his embrace, kissing her forehead, her eyes and lips. The kiss that had started as soothing soon turned warmer, as their hands remembered each curvature, their lips each sensitive point. Sherlock removed the pins to free Molly's hair, luxuriating in their silken softness. Molly undid the top couple buttons of his shirt, nuzzling into that long glorious neck as she'd always loved to do.

They remembered, their memories guiding them, leading them down the road they had frequently taken. Their one common ground where they both had been equal participants and enthusiasts. As their clothes fell away and they fell onto their old bed, it felt like the past three years faded away. Every touch was familiar, every caress knew its potency, but there was a new hunger. A hunger fed by separation and misunderstandings and words left unsaid. When they finally came together, it felt like a bonding of souls, a final relief.

Molly felt as if she was shattered and then put together again. As she looked at her husband's face, thin sheen of sweat glistening in the evening light, she knew he felt the same. It was a new beginning and they were both ready to start building their life together.

"Don't leave me again, Sherlock. Promise me, you won't leave us again."

"Wild horses couldn't drag me away Molly." He had made a grand announcement.

A promise that he'd broken a mere three months later, when his old hunting ground London and Scotland Yard beckoned. But Molly knew her husband well now; she knew his dreams and his deepest wishes. She knew the separation would be temporary as Sherlock would haste to return home after each case was solved. The time for which was further shortened when Mycroft found them new holdings at Baker Street. The war was over and London was limping back to life, all its occupants gradually sliding back into their activities before the war, the common man back to the grind, the criminal back to his deeds.

It was the ideal ground for Sherlock Holmes to start anew too. It was a new home, a new life, a new chance, and as her husband loved to say, the game was on!


End file.
